Gail's no-nonsense wisdom shone on local and state government, and brought clarity and compassion to her readers.

When I first met Gail in 1985, she was a Metro city and Capitol reporter for The Tennessean, brash in the best tradition of journalism, yet thorough and focused in a way that most of us just wish we could be.

She worked on too many investigative reports of government wrongdoing to list. Her prose was lean but colorful, her reporting insightful. Woe be to the official who thought he or she could put something over on Gail. Like the county clerk accused of harassing female workers who tried his intimidating tactics on her, addressing her as "sweet baby" during her interview.

The next day, Tennessean readers heard all about it.

No reporter has been more dedicated, more integral to The Tennessean's identity, and no one loved their work more.

In 2000, Gail began writing her regular column, and readers' appreciation of her work soared. Her column spoke directly to the people of her hometown, Nashville, and left no one out. She called out people in positions of power when they behaved badly, but she also praised them when they did the right thing.

In my job, I see the letters to the editor that come in every day. No one who works here is asked about more by our readers. No one else is referred to by total strangers by their first name. "Where's Gail?" they would write if she was on much-needed vacation or medical leave. "We would love to read her take on (fill in the blank)."

There was a ubiquity about Gail, in a good way. She always wanted to be at work — except for the time she spent with her husband, Les, whom she adored. She was keenly aware that something is always going on that readers want to know about, and her own native curiosity assured she would be a part of finding out about it.

Over the past three years, Gail had some long absences as she battled cancer. She guarded that information carefully, asking all of us not to let folks know why she was away. It wasn't that she was such a private person; it was because she didn't want to BE the story.

Gail's column was a marvel. It read like a conversation with your next-door neighbor (the one you like) giving the scoop, except she was filling you in, not on what was overheard at the yard sale, but at city hall.

Just last week, Gail wrote about Common Core, the initiative to improve educational standards, which was well underway until hitting a political buzzsaw. When one lawmaker said of the program, which began in 2010, "Let's get it right. We're just moving too fast," Gail wrote this:

"Too fast? Oh, for crying out loud. If anything, Tennessee school systems have been too slow to change, too reluctant to embrace new, modern methods of doing things. If the House gets its way, the first-grader who is learning today will have her standards put on hold until she's in the third grade. Time only goes one way. It doesn't stand still. ... Thank goodness for a little common sense that will get Tennessee students where they should be going."

Thank goodness for all the times that Gail Kerr reminded all of us of the value of a little common sense.